


What Watson Didn't Say

by WhichWolfWins



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Diary/Journal, Hand Jobs, M/M, POV First Person, Sherlock's return
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:44:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhichWolfWins/pseuds/WhichWolfWins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson writes a journal entry the night of Sherlock's return for his and Sherlock's eyes only.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Watson Didn't Say

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for the Granada series. It was a lot of fun; there are so many facial expressions and character traits to work with! I hope you like it!

* * *

_The Private Journals of Dr. John H. Watson_

* * *

Never will another set of eyes beside my own and Holmes’ rest upon these words, therefore I will not hold back when I record the events which did transpire upon our return to our lodgings in 221B Baker Street on the early evening of this day in April of 1894. I do not wish to forget a single moment of this blessed day that Sherlock Holmes has returned from the great beyond to me, so here I sit only minutes after he has fallen into a deep sleep, he in his chair and me in mine across from him. As I write these words, there is a fire burning in the fireplace and a peaceful quiet has descended upon our rooms, but I can still hear Holmes’ breaths over the crackling of the burning wood beside us. 

I have already recorded how Holmes’ return has come about in the journal bearing our adventures, so now I will write down what had transpired afterward: 

After the long long day we’d had, Holmes excused himself to the bathroom. 

“I cannot wait another moment to wash these last dreaded years from my skin,” he said, stretching his tall form out of his chair. 

I nodded, still stunned by the unbelievable events of my day, and I watched him walk away from me. Here I must confess, for the sake of the man I have become as I read this years from now, that as his form disappeared into the bathroom out of my sight, a sudden panic took hold of my heart and I shot from my chair with a gasp. With an inexplicable fear in my heart, I followed Holmes to the bathroom. Only once before had such a fear held my heart in its vice and they were both inspired by the same reason. 

At his door, I paused and took a breath before I knocked upon the wood. Though it had been three years, it felt like only yesterday that I had done the same. 

From through the barrier between us, I heard Holmes immerse himself in the bath our housekeeper had prepared for him, so I turned the knob to enter and set my eyes upon him from the doorway as I had done many times before then. Only this time our years apart separated us like a chasm. 

Holmes' knees were brought to his chest and there he rested his chin. As I entered, his penetrating eyes were cast on the bubbles bursting on the water’s surface, but they turned up to me as I settled against the door frame. 

“In or out, Watson,” said he. “You’re letting in the cold air.” 

His words were snappish, but his eyes were warm, so I stepped in rather than out and closed the door softly behind me. In my uncertainty, I remained by the door. 

“Are you just going to stand there or will you at least offer your assistance?” 

Holmes held up a cloth to me, so I strode across the room to the side of the tub. There I knelt down and rolled up my sleeves before I took the cloth from his hand. He returned his chin to his knees as I dipped the cloth into the sudsy water and prepared it with soap. He sighed as I began to scrub his back and his head tipped even further forward until his forehead was where his chin had been. 

“It would bring great pleasure to me if you never do such a thing as leave me behind again,” I said, squeezing the water over his back and watching it run down the slope in rivulets. 

Holmes turned his head and looked at me sideways with a small smile. “Only if you do the same,” he said in a joking tone, only his grey eyes holding mine were serious. This was how I knew he was trying to conceal his true emotion with humour as he had so often before. 

I laughed with a start and leaned forward to kiss Sherlock’s cheek. He was watching me with surprise as I pulled away, so I smiled in a reassuring manner. “By God, I’ve missed you!” I proclaimed, and gave him another kiss for good measure. I was unable to hold myself back. My dearest friend had been gone from me for too long. 

Holmes’ wet hand came up and caught me before I could move away and he held me fast as he captured my lips with his firm mouth. Then, with his hot tongue, Sherlock kissed me like a man possessed and if anyone else were to read these words, they would assure me that it was indeed of the Devil’s work. To that I say I know such a thing is not possible. I have seen the Devil’s work many a time in my life and this, I know, was not it. Of that I am sure. 

By the time we finally pulled apart, my moustache was damp with bath water and both of us were beaming. I still clutched the cloth to Sherlock’s back, so I got it wet again and continued to scrub away our time apart. I held his gaze as I put my other hand in the water. His eyes were like quicksilver as my searching hand found his flaccid length in the bath. 

Holmes stretched back as far as the small tub would allow and I released the cloth into the water to reach for his damp head and scratch my nails against his scalp. Then I began to stroke him with my other hand beneath the water’s surface. 

“Oh John, how I’ve missed you,” Sherlock sighed, tipping his head over the lip of the bath with eyes closed. He was gripping the sides of the bath as I worked his length in my hand, and his chest rose and fell quickly. Soon his hips started to do the same, rocking down and up in the water as he took pleasure in my touch, causing waves to move from one side of the tub to the other and back again. 

My member was straining inside my trousers, but I ignored it for the sake of keeping my hands on Holmes. I had not been able to touch him in three years, believed I would never get to do such a thing again, and I never wanted to release him again. For a little pressure, I did press myself against the side of the tub, but mostly I pleased myself by pleasing Holmes. 

My lover seemed to struggle with whether or not he wanted to keep his eyes open. Whenever his eyes parted again, it took only a scratch of my nails on his sensitive scalp or a swipe of my thumb across the head of his throbbing member to make Sherlock close his eyes once more and moan into the steamy air. 

For a moment, I closed my eyes and it was almost like I was hearing it from memory as Sherlock chanted my name. I smiled and opened them to his grey eyes watching me and I must say my eyes were damp with memories and happiness as he looked upon me. I do not believe I had ever been happier than I was then, as I am now as I write these words. Holmes has come back to me. He has come back! 

I gripped Sherlock’s dark hair in my hands, giving it a tug, and Holmes threw his head back with a gasp as I stroked him to completion. When he moaned, it was the most relieved, awed sound I had ever heard and his legs writhed in the water as he keened with pleasure. Soon his mouth curved into a smile of astonishment and joy around his gasps for air. 

“My dearest John,” Holmes breathed, panting within the tub with flushed cheeks. His head lulled on the lip of the bath and he turned his heavily lidded eyes toward me. “Never again will I stray far from your touch.” 

“Nor I your’s,” said I, combing my fingers through his damp hair and, at last, allowing my other hand fall to the front of my trousers to apply pressure to my throbbing member. I released it from its trappings and took myself in hand with my still-damp hand and stroked myself quickly into climax, splashing my seed across the side of the bath. 

“Mmm,” Sherlock hummed, smiling at me. He'd been watching and squeezed out the cloth I'd used to clean him before handing it to me so I could clean up my mess. As I did, his eyes drifted closed and I chuckled at the sight of my fast-to-sleep friend. 

Dropping the cloth back into the bath water, I rose from the side of the tub, much to the complaint of my knees, and picked up the towel folded atop the toilet. “Come now, Holmes. To bed with you.” 

Sherlock gave a sound of complaint and frowned before he eventually gave in and opened his eyes to stand from the tub. He stepped out of the bath onto the towel I’d been kneeling on and I wrapped him in the cloth I held. Dutifully, he bowed his tired head onto my shoulder as I dried him, then I left him for a moment to prepare his bed. I laid the towel across the pillow then steered him into his room and onto his bed with a kiss to his cheek, then, reluctantly, I left him to his rest. 

As I was first settling in to write these words by the light of the fire later in the night, I heard the turn of the knob to Holmes’ room and my lover came out of his bedroom wrapped up in a sheet. He crossed the floor to his well-worn chair and burrowed himself into it until he found some sort of comfort. His eyelids fluttered open and he smiled softly across the chasm between us. 

“I cannot rest in my bed without you in it,” he confessed, then he fell swiftly to sleep. 

After I finish writing these words, I intend to carry Holmes to his bed and make him sleep the night away within it. If I join him... well, that’s for tomorrow’s entry to know. Until then.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have the time, I would really appreciate hearing what you thought of this! :)
> 
> If you would like to follow me on tumblr, [here's](http://whichwolfwins.tumblr.com/) a link!


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